


we don't belong here

by bitfibber



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 23:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13041618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitfibber/pseuds/bitfibber
Summary: A story of Arthur and Ariadne, their work and their dreams in the aftermath of inception. (unfinished and discontinued)





	1. Do you know what it is to be a lover?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally wrote this back when the movie came out. I didn't do my research, so that part describing architecture is entirely wrong, oops.
> 
> Enjoy.

_what the hell am i doing here?_

She never had problems with her projections on the job. She was never the dreamer, ever the architect. Her projections never graced the maze, and that was just fine by her. But her real dreams, the ones that her head cooked up after she flopped down in a new hotel in whatever country they did a job in, those dreams ran wild. 

Her dreams were plagued by Mallorie Cobb.

At least twice a week, she strolled into her dreams like they were Dom’s. But they weren’t Dom’s, because Mal acted in the only ways that Ariadne knew her. She always carried a broken glass or chef’s knife. She spoke either quietly with a whisper smooth as silk, adorned with her beautiful French accent, or she screamed, her face twisted but always lovely. Mal’s eyes never changed. They were a constant pale blue, intense like a cat and trained on Ariadne’s own brown eyes.

Ariadne couldn’t ever look her in the eye. She trained her eyes on the broken champagne glass in her hand instead. She stood once more amongst the wreckage that was supposed to be another of Dom’s romantic anniversaries, but had turned into one of his deepest regrets. She had stepped on the glass, and it was still ringing in her ear. She had seen the little metal spinning top.

“You are trying to understand?” Mal practically hisses in her ear as she circles like a shark to a carcass.

Ariadne can’t say anything this time. She knows better after so many times she has repeated this dream. Still, her skin is rippled with goose bumps and the chills given to her by Mal’s voice make the hair on the nape of her neck stand on end.

It was just like Dom described to her in the imaginary Parisian Café. Dreams seem so real when you’re in them. It was just she said. It was all about the feel of the dream, not just the visuals.

“How can you understand?” Mal says as she moves in behind her back.

She can’t. Ariadne knows this and her eyes dart all over the ground while she takes a short and shuddering breath. The air is heavy with humidity, just like it can get in the summer house her parents have in southern France, because she doesn’t know what Boston air feels like. She knows that, in the time when Mal decided to corner Dom in this room, it was Boston air blowing the soft curtains.

The more jobs she did with the whole gang, the more she began to find that it was the air that really made a dream seem real. A prairie wasn’t complete without a rolling breeze. A snowy city just wasn’t right without the scent of ozone and car exhaust. She became a connoisseur of the senses. Her grid sketchbooks were filled less with building ideas and more with lists of sounds, smells, sights and sometimes even tastes. Ariadne started documenting all of these tiny details for later dream designs. It was like collecting material for a new project.

“Do you know what it is to be a lover?” Mal’s voice sounds again in her other ear.

Ariadne imagines the word ‘lover’ rolling around and off Mal’s tongue as if it was a chocolate or a mouthful of fine red wine. Her mind then imagines Arthur and the way he softly demanded a kiss from her. A gimmick, a trick, and he stole her first kiss. Ariadne felt too confused to be angry. Did it count if it was in a dream? It didn’t matter, because even after that job was over, even after they accomplished many other jobs together, and even though he slept on the other queen-sized bed to her sleeping body’s right, they weren’t lovers and she never could imagine that _really_ happening between them.

“N-no.” Ariadne stuttered out, even though she didn’t want to.

“Oh, that’s a shame.” Mal said and the dream deviated from what happened in Dom’s memory prison, “I wonder if you will ever wait for a train,” Ariadne could see her right hand tightening on the glass as she moved away, “I wonder if you will ever not care about where you are going,” Mal had turned towards her now, staring deep into Ariadne’s eyes which roamed the room, “I wonder if you will ever not care, because you will be with someone else, _together_.”

Mal whispered the last word and inclined her head towards her. Ariadne snapped her gaze up to hold Mal’s, and they both stared for a second, predator and prey, face to face.

Then Ariadne turned and ran towards the elevator, and Mal rushed after her.

But there was no elevator. This wasn’t Dom’s dream. It wasn’t even a controlled dream, and the only thing that remained was cream colored wall where she had hoped an elevator could be.


	2. These dreams aren't mine to dream

_i don’t belong here_

 

Ariadne woke with a long gasp and a grunt. She sat up in bed very quickly, eyes wide, and immediately felt at her sides where Mal had stabbed at her with the broken glass. When she realized that no damage was done to her body, she curled her knees to her chest and rested her forehead on the tops, breathing heavily.

“Ariadne?” Arthur called, his voice thick with sleep, from the other bed in the hotel room, “Are you okay?”

Car horns echoed in from outside and Ariadne reminded herself that she was in Las Vegas. She reached beneath her pillow and pulled out her pawn totem to thumb over before she shakily responded to Arthur.

“Yes, I’m okay now.” She was relieved to feel the weight of the brass pawn to be just right, meaning she was back in the real world.

“What happened?” Arthur sounded more awake now as he reached and switched on the light. Ariadne, for the millionth time, wished he would wear a shirt in addition to his sweatpants to bed. His bare chest certainly didn’t help her to forget that not real kiss.

She averted her eyes towards the bathroom as he shuffled in bed to sit up. “It was just a…” She struggled for the word because it wasn’t just a dream. It wasn’t even a nightmare. It wasn’t hers.

Arthur looked at Ariadne’s hand, nervously palming her totem.

“Do you still dream?” he asked in quiet astonishment.

“Yes,” She responded, looking at him for a second, “My dreams have become more vivid than ever after Cobb recruited me. What about you?”

“I don’t dream at all anymore,” Arthur answered, his eyes moving to the window. For an instant, he felt a wave of jealousy at Ariadne’s luck with dreams.

Ariadne stared at him in surprise. “You don’t?” she exclaimed, “why?”

“Most dream walkers like us don’t after awhile. I guess we spend so much time in the dream world already that when we want to dream by ourselves, we just can’t. ” He informed her, licking his lips.

Ariadne detected the sadness and envy in his voice.

“if it makes you feel any better, I don’t really have any of my own dreams anyways,” She continued when Arthur gazed at her in question, “They’re Dom’s dreams—no, _memories_.” Ariadne felt the ripple of chills tickle her arms just like Mal’s voice had done in the dream. It was unnerving to have dreams about dreams and memories that weren’t even hers. _It’s because they aren’t mine to dream,_ She thought.

Arthur felt strangely uncomfortable as she called his longtime business partner by ‘Dom’ instead of her usual ‘Cobb’. He felt even more uncomfortable when she revealed that she believed she was dreaming Cobb’s memories, of all things.

“What do you—” He started to ask, but she interrupted him.

“The night before we left for the mission, I saw Dom hooked up to the sedating machine in the workshop. I had seen him there a few times before, but this time I hooked into the dream to see what he was doing.” Ariadne stared straight at the bed while she talked, “He had set up some kind of prison for the times in his life that he regretted, all hooked together by an elevator. When he wasn’t paying attention, I snuck off down to the basement floor, to the thing that he regretted most.”

As Arthur listened, he felt like he was confronted with too many options at once. It was that feeling that he got for just a second when the list of chores he made himself didn’t have a definite start or stop. It was that feeling that he got when he thought about never really having a home, just another hotel room.

“It’s of the night Mal died.” Ariadne recanted, her mouth dry, “She talks to me in the hotel room she ruined on their anniversary. The things she says—” The young architect squeezed her eyes shut, “—it’s just terrible. Then she attacks me.”

But her friend was exploring the meaning behind Dom opening up to her, the new girl, versus Arthur himself, his friend.

“Were you and Cobb…?” He ventured, feeling like his feet stood on loose gravel.

“No! God, no.” Ariadne said quickly, eyeing Arthur with knitted eyebrows, “I wouldn’t, uh, and he was just too caught up with Mal anyways. I just happened to be the one to really pry for his secrets. He didn’t invite me, I broke in.

Arthur felt a little better, if not childish. “Oh.”

There was a space of awkward air resting between them, rather like a farting elephant. They both tried to ignore it for a bit.

Finally, Arthur broke the silence and tried to smooth the tension. “So, what exactly does she say that shakes you up so much?”

Ariadne’s mouth dammed up as she tried to think of a way to brush over it, but she gave in anyways.

“She asks me if I know what it’s like to be a lover.” She rushes out, “and when I say ‘no’ she taunts me about never knowing what it will be like.”

“Well,” Arthur starts, his cool confidence coming back to him, “you’ve at least been in a relationship and that…” He trails off when he sees Ariadne shaking her head.

“No,” She reiterates, her voice tinged with embarrassment and her cheeks tinged with red, “I haven’t been in a relationship.”

When she caught his surprised look, Ariadne began to blurt out her explanation, “Well, it takes a lot of hard work to get into that Parisian college and I wasn’t really the best looker back in high school or in my first few years of college so I— what?”

Letting the grin crawl over his face as she talked, Arthur felt more and more amused at her quick explanation. “Nothing.” He said with a light shake of his head.

Ariadne felt her ego deflate, and her sense of pride was quickly inflamed. “Oh, laugh all you want, Mr. Experience, but many of us have to work for success before—”

“Hey what does that mean?” Arthur interrupted, his voice turning from laughing towards irritation.

_What did I mean?_ Ariadne thought in response. She didn’t know his history. It’s not like she had pried into Arthur’s back story like she had with Dom. She wasn’t sure she wanted to do anything like that again, anyways.

“Look,” she started again, feeling akin to a chastised puppy, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I’m just… Well Mal just put me on edge, I guess.”

Arthur held up his hand in a dismissive wave. “No, I’m sorry. I was being insensitive.” He took a breath before continuing, “Besides, you shouldn’t worry about what Mal says. There’s plenty of time in the world for that, and if you weren’t a looker back in high school, you are now so there’s no need to get yourself worked up over what will happen in time.”

The fist-fighter’s confidence shook towards the end of his sentence as he realized he had said something he hadn’t really meant to say aloud. When he snuck a look at Ariadne, her face was carefully turned away from him. Still, his sharp eyes could pick out the beginnings of bright red on the edges of her cheeks.

After a gulp, Ariadne tried to respond, “Ah, thanks Arthur…” She took a quick breath and tried to will the burning on her cheeks to go away, “That... means a lot to me.”

Arthur told himself that he was imagining the slight heat to his own face, and he smiled at her. “You’re welcome, Ariadne.” And he punctuated his response with a sudden yawn.

Hearing his yawn, the architect looked over at him with a tiny smile. “I think we had best go back to sleep, huh? We have plenty to do tomorrow.” She began to pull at the covers and slipped her totem back beneath her pillow.

Arthur nodded in agreement and reached for the light before turning over. “Yeah, I’m looking forward to seeing that French Mansion you designed for the next client.” He said to the darkness.

“I think you’ll be pretty impressed.” She responded, turning onto her side, “Good night, Arthur.”

With a tiny smile, Arthur responded, “Sweet dreams, Ariadne.”

 


	3. French Architecture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I made up all this stuff about architecture. I should have just googled it.

_i don’t care if it hurts_

Her creations never failed to amaze him. He specialized in paradox’s and closed loops, things to really seal the scape up, but his imagination was a little lacking when it came to full complexes, floors of office buildings, and whole cities.

Or French Mansions.

“This is incredible.” Arthur marveled, head craned backwards to examine the massive house in front of him.

Ariadne was already walking up the carved stone steps toward the double hickory doors. “This is the subject’s mansion, complete with the roof monsters.” She pointed up at the corners of the roof where carved chimera’s slumped over the copper gutters.

Arthur followed, still looking upwards towards the manicured windows and roof. “This guy makes bank,” he commented.

The Architect turned and grinned at him while she pushed at the wrought iron door handle, “Well, he is a banker.”

The two were preparing for an extraction job in the Loire Valley, a region of France that was heavily wooded and full of old chateaux’s and large mansions. The target was a middle-aged man who was suspected to be harboring an idea to steal a large sum of money from their current employer, a CEO of a French airline. Eames and Yusuf would be meeting them in Paris, where the subject would be subdued and brought into the dream.

Ariadne had begun to mirror and plan out the mansion, and now she was showing Arthur her work. He was the dreamer on this mission, and she was determined to make sure that he knew the mansion down to the last detail before the mission. This was his first introduction to the mansion, as they had time to spare before their flight to Paris.

Her black heeled boots made an echo on the white marble floor as she pushed it open for Arthur, and then Ariadne stepped onto the plush hand-weaved carpet with regal gold and blue patterns.

“Notice the chandelier, Arthur, there are 13 candle spikes versus the typical 15,” She pointed out.

“There’s a typical number of spikes on chandeliers?” He asked, quirking his lips and raising his eyebrows.

Ariadne sighed and shrugged, turning away towards the steps. “You’re hopeless, you know.”

Arthur whistled as he looked up to the ceiling and the gold molding and ceiling paintings. “As hopeless as I am, I gotta say that French architecture sure is beautiful and extravagant. I like it quite a lot,” Arthur continued to admire the foyer as he spun on his heel.

“Eh, it’s not my favorite,” Ariadne replied, “It’s so showy and glamorous that it just feels empty. There’s no soul in it.”

The fist fighter was suddenly interested as he followed her up the steps. “What is your favorite kind of architecture then?”

She turned to look at him at the top of the curving stairway and waited for a French maid pushing a cart to pass behind her. She was dressed in the typical American portrayal of a French maid; black hair, high heels, and the usual frilly white and black dress.

Ariadne raised her eyebrows at Arthur. “Is that what your subconscious thinks French maids are really like?”

“Well—” Arthur started, looking rather flustered, “I’ve never seen any other kind of French maid!”

The Architect shrugged, before turning, “Fair enough.”

The Point Man hurried after her and down the hall. “Hey,” He said, walking even with her, “You didn’t answer my question.”

Ariadne looked towards the ceiling as if searching for the words. “Well I like South Asian architecture, but with a bit of a twist. It’s hard to describe…”

Arthur grinned. “Well then, why don’t you show me?” He challenged.

She smiled back, just as confident. “Alright.”

As soon as she spoke the word, the ground rumbled and the mansion shook. The hallways widened slightly, and rounded a bit. The plush carpet changed into wooden slats that were worn smooth by slippered feet. The gold molded and painted ceiling melted away to reveal dark slats perpendicular to thick, square, wooden beams stained red. Doors extended and knobs dropped off but never hit the floor. The wood squished into thin paper stained with a creamy beige pattern. A tall ornamental vase in a nook to Arthur’s left grew into a tiny round table with a white orchid in a small black pot atop it.

Even the oil paintings melted away into oriental scrolls with elegant script and various Asian paintings on them.

Turning to examine the paneled walls, Arthur whistled in admiration of the transformation. “Now I’m really impressed,” He said in a quiet voice, “Did the outside change too?”

She nodded. “Sloped roofs to slip up demons and a weather vane of a golden monkey. The outside lights are even lantern style.” Ariadne slid one of the paper doors open to her right and waved her hand inside at Arthur.

“It’s mostly Balinese influenced. Most of the rooms are very open but I kept this one dim for ambience. The curving and circular wood where the walls meet the ceiling is a trademark example of Bali architecture.”

He examined the room. Two walls parallel to each other were made from paper paneling and the other two were wooden, long shelves full of lit candles mirroring each other for lighting. In the middle of the room was a low table, slightly longer than wide, of dark red wood. Atop it was what Arthur would call a Japanese tea set, but he wasn’t sure what country it hailed from. Two flat orange pillows sat at either end of the table.

Ariadne was already walking toward the left one. “Join me for tea?” She mused in his direction.

Arthur snorted. “It’s a dream, what’s the point?” He asked in a snotty voice.

She looked very amused. “It’s a dream, why not?” she mimicked his voice.

Arthur raised his eyebrows a bit but meandered over and sat on the cushion across from her. He watched her carefully as she lifted the teapot by its woven handle and poured an amber liquid into his cup. While she concentrated on not spilling and the level of liquid, Arthur’s eyes moved up her creamy wrists and up the green wool sweater, loose around her arms. His blue eyes raked over her chest, noting that she had appeared in the dream with her favorite blue bird scarf, and up her neck and face to her eyes. Half-lidded brown eyes suddenly snapped upwards to stare back at him.

The fighter nearly started in surprise, but he relaxed at her tiny smile and she turned to own cup of tea. “Cobb once told me that dreams feel real while we’re in them, that we only notice how strange it was after we wake up.” She said, almost absently, “So why not drink tea in a dream if it’s just as enjoyable now as it would be if we were doing this in the hotel room?”

She set the teapot down and picked up the cup, sipping it appreciatively.

Arthur leaned forward on his elbow. “Because we know the difference, and we shouldn’t indulge in what isn’t real when we know how easy it is for people to lose themselves in dreams like this,” he answered darkly.

Her eyes narrowed and glared back at him. Her teacup touched onto the wooden table with a muffled chink. “I know that you are extra wary about dreams and reality with good reason because of what happened to Dom and Mal, but there is nothing wrong with a single cup of tea.”

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “You just don’t get it do you?” He demanded, exasperated, “You went all the way to limbo and back and you still don’t understand just how Dom got to where he was. I knew them both long before Mal killed herself, or even had the idea. They were reckless. Sometimes they would spend hours dreaming together. Sometimes they even went on dates in their dreams, or play out old dates of theirs.”

“This is not a date,” She ground out, and her words struck a chord of hurt somewhere in Arthur, as though he had wished it had been a date. He told himself that he didn’t care, and pushed the feeling aside.

“Didn’t you ever consider that perhaps Mal and Dom didn’t find a way out of Limbo sooner because they didn’t want to leave yet?” He asked, his voice incredulous.

Ariadne felt a creeping feeling come over her, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She was thinking of Dom’s words, that Mal had locked something away and chosen to forget. Mal chose to continue the life she had indulged in.

The tea in her mouth didn’t taste so appealing anymore, so Ariadne swallowed and breathed for a moment, looking at the ground.

Arthur let her stew in thought for a time while he reclined into his own deep thoughts. He remembered the day that Dom had spent years in Limbo, that he felt eighty years old. At first, Arthur had reminded him that a dream was a dream, and that those years weren’t real. After that, Dom had dammed up from Arthur. He just didn’t want to talk about it anymore. And after Mal died, it just got worse and worse. Dom was more and more distant, where he had once been closer than anyone to Arthur.

Ariadne was tracing a different line of thought, though. She couldn’t stop thinking about Arthur’s point, that Mal and Dom had chosen to live in Limbo. What begged the question was what had pushed Dom into action? What had made Dom believe that the real world is what he really wanted?

With Dom comatose in Los Angeles, the world may never know. Perhaps he had decided to stay in Limbo. Ariadne thought it was more likely that he could no longer distinguish the dream from reality, now.

When she looked back at Arthur, Ariadne noticed that his hair was mussed a little and that his brow was furrowed. Despite this, she acknowledged that he looked handsome still and, when angry, fairly… _cute_. Despite that, the dream maker didn’t like seeing him angry.

Reaching across the table and spilling her tea onto the table in the process, Ariadne let her hand move over Arthur’s, which was gripping the edge of the table. Wiggling her pinky finger between the table and his hand while stroking his fingers with her thumb, she loosened and lifted his hand from the table.

He looked at their hands and then up into her face, an expression of worry and hurt splayed across his face.

“Hey,” she said softly, her own face sinking into concern, “I’m sorry. I should have been more sensitive to this kind of stuff, especially since they both meant so much to you.”

Arthur swallowed and gently closed his hand around her grip. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” he murmured in a coarse voice, “I just.. overreacted a little.”

Ariadne firmly shook her head. “No, you were completely in the right,” and without thought, she continued, “And I’m sorry if I hurt you with the dating comment… It’s just I was angry and I wasn’t all that clear on what you might have thought it was or…” She searched for the words and her eyes darted around the room, “… or on what I might have thought it was.”

Arthur gave a small, wry laugh at her strange apology. He looked down at their hands and admired her smooth skin. His thumb traced the top of her hand once before he let it go.

“Tell you what,” He joked with a smile, “We only have a minute or so left in this dream anyhow, so how about you forget about my French maid projection and I’ll forget about your very strange and rather lousy apology. Deal?”

She released his hand and felt her own spirits soar when she realized Arthur was feeling better. “Deal. But only if you come to my parents summer house in Southern France and see what a real French Maid looks like,” Ariadne teased back.

The Point man chuckled and winked at Ariadne, leaning forward to speak in a low, gruff voice, “Only if she’s hot.” 

Two could play that game. The architect also leaned forward and let out a whisper as sultry as she could muster, “Oh, he’s hotter than the weather.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows and choked a little in surprise, but before he could retort, the dream began to fade.

* * *

 

They each woke up feeling very rested from their five minute nap, each on their own bed with the sedation machine on the floor between them.

Ariadne looked over and met Arthur’s eyes. He looked thoughtful.

After a moment, he asked, “Is your French maid really male?”

Ariadne smiled and responded in a light, coy voice, “Why, Arthur, are you interested?”


End file.
